me down here.”
“For what?” she asks. “Is this like a friends-with-benefits thing?”
The specification is an insulting one, and I turn to look at her, pinning her with a gaze that’s sharper than before. “How do you know we’re not dating?”
She opens her mouth but clamps it shut again when she sees the expression on my face.
Despite her silence, I think I know full well what she isn’t saying.
It wouldn’t occur to her that I could be interested in Chloe for real. I mean, I’m not . . .
But a big sister should be standing up for her younger sibling, not tearing her down.
I grind my teeth in irritation. I think I’ve known all along that Kristin doesn’t exactly have a heart of gold, and I haven’t given a shit. My thing with Kristin is purely about the challenge.
And yet, looking at her perfect features, I’m suddenly having a hell of a time remembering why I found her attractive in the first place.
My need to defend Chloe is fierce and uncomfortable, and I’m about to deliberately give Kristin the wrong idea—that I do have a thing for her sister, when I realize the lie won’t help Chloe’s cause.
Chloe doesn’t care whether I discover Kristin’s true colors; she cares that Devon does.
I take another sip of my increasingly warm beer, and just as I’m firmly ordering myself to stay the fuck out of this stupid melodrama, I remember the carrot I dangled in front of Chloe earlier.
Her wearing that ridiculously tiny swimsuit tomorrow in exchange for my help with Devon.
I still don’t know why I offered, but what the hell . . . might as well get a head start.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask Kristin.
She’s recovered some of her composure and gives me a tiny, secret smile. “Why so interested?”
I shrug. “Just figured wherever he is, I can find Chloe.”
Once again, her smile pulls a vanishing act.
This is almost fun.
“What do you mean?”
I lift a shoulder. “They’re tight, aren’t they? I see them talking all the time at the club.”
“They’re friends.” Her voice is cautious.
I nod, as though I’m thinking this over. “Did they ever, you know . . . date?”
“God! No!” She lets out a little laugh. “Why would you even think that?”
I shrug. “Just checking.”
At first I think my less-is-more approach is going to backfire, but she takes the bait after all.
“They used to be super-close,” she says, almost more to herself.
“Used to?”
“Well he has me now, so they’re not all BFF like before. But sometimes I think . . .”
She breaks off, and I don’t fill the silence.
“I should probably go find Devon,” she says abruptly, climbing to her feet.
“Sure,” I say, as though I don’t give a crap whether she stays or goes. Which is easy, considering I don’t. “Send Chloe when you find them.”
My phrasing is deliberate and her smile shows she’s irritated that I clearly assume where she’ll find one, she’ll find the other.
My brief surge of triumph is dampened only by the strange realization that, all games aside, I really do hope she sends Chloe down.
Strange how I miss that girl when she’s not around.
Chapter 12
Chloe
“Chloe?”
The knock at my door has me diving for the cover-up, which I struggle to pull over my head.
“Go away, Beefcake.”
The doorknob rattles.
With another glance in the full-length mirror to ensure that all the wobbly parts are completely concealed, I open the door.
And damn it, the sheer attractiveness of Michael St. Claire takes my breath away, just a little. I mean, not that I’m attracted to him, of course. Just in sort of a damn, that’s a fine piece of work kind of way.
I’d warned him that most of the guys wear swim trunks since it’s generally in and out of the boat all day, and he’s already wearing navy trunks with a long-sleeved form-fitting white shirt that confirms what I’ve always suspected: eight-pack.
Annoying.
“Happy Fourth.” He gives me a once-over, looking
“For what?” she asks. “Is this like a friends-with-benefits thing?”
The specification is an insulting one, and I turn to look at her, pinning her with a gaze that’s sharper than before. “How do you know we’re not dating?”
She opens her mouth but clamps it shut again when she sees the expression on my face.
Despite her silence, I think I know full well what she isn’t saying.
It wouldn’t occur to her that I could be interested in Chloe for real. I mean, I’m not . . .
But a big sister should be standing up for her younger sibling, not tearing her down.
I grind my teeth in irritation. I think I’ve known all along that Kristin doesn’t exactly have a heart of gold, and I haven’t given a shit. My thing with Kristin is purely about the challenge.
And yet, looking at her perfect features, I’m suddenly having a hell of a time remembering why I found her attractive in the first place.
My need to defend Chloe is fierce and uncomfortable, and I’m about to deliberately give Kristin the wrong idea—that I do have a thing for her sister, when I realize the lie won’t help Chloe’s cause.
Chloe doesn’t care whether I discover Kristin’s true colors; she cares that Devon does.
I take another sip of my increasingly warm beer, and just as I’m firmly ordering myself to stay the fuck out of this stupid melodrama, I remember the carrot I dangled in front of Chloe earlier.
Her wearing that ridiculously tiny swimsuit tomorrow in exchange for my help with Devon.
I still don’t know why I offered, but what the hell . . . might as well get a head start.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask Kristin.
She’s recovered some of her composure and gives me a tiny, secret smile. “Why so interested?”
I shrug. “Just figured wherever he is, I can find Chloe.”
Once again, her smile pulls a vanishing act.
This is almost fun.
“What do you mean?”
I lift a shoulder. “They’re tight, aren’t they? I see them talking all the time at the club.”
“They’re friends.” Her voice is cautious.
I nod, as though I’m thinking this over. “Did they ever, you know . . . date?”
“God! No!” She lets out a little laugh. “Why would you even think that?”
I shrug. “Just checking.”
At first I think my less-is-more approach is going to backfire, but she takes the bait after all.
“They used to be super-close,” she says, almost more to herself.
“Used to?”
“Well he has me now, so they’re not all BFF like before. But sometimes I think . . .”
She breaks off, and I don’t fill the silence.
“I should probably go find Devon,” she says abruptly, climbing to her feet.
“Sure,” I say, as though I don’t give a crap whether she stays or goes. Which is easy, considering I don’t. “Send Chloe when you find them.”
My phrasing is deliberate and her smile shows she’s irritated that I clearly assume where she’ll find one, she’ll find the other.
My brief surge of triumph is dampened only by the strange realization that, all games aside, I really do hope she sends Chloe down.
Strange how I miss that girl when she’s not around.
Chapter 12
Chloe
“Chloe?”
The knock at my door has me diving for the cover-up, which I struggle to pull over my head.
“Go away, Beefcake.”
The doorknob rattles.
With another glance in the full-length mirror to ensure that all the wobbly parts are completely concealed, I open the door.
And damn it, the sheer attractiveness of Michael St. Claire takes my breath away, just a little. I mean, not that I’m attracted to him, of course. Just in sort of a damn, that’s a fine piece of work kind of way.
I’d warned him that most of the guys wear swim trunks since it’s generally in and out of the boat all day, and he’s already wearing navy trunks with a long-sleeved form-fitting white shirt that confirms what I’ve always suspected: eight-pack.
Annoying.
“Happy Fourth.” He gives me a once-over, looking
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